Crossfire
by Sir-Mercutio-McHuffer
Summary: In which Deano is a manho, Japanese ghoulies come out of the woodworks, Hullish accents get horribly misheard, and Sam gets shoved in the back of a tiny car.
1. What's A Girl To Do?

**Author's Note: Hello all! This is my first Supernatural fanfic. Ever. I was reading fanfics and thought ... Well ... Deano is a manho. He copes with all the awful shit in his life by boozing and shagging. And this is what happened. I don't own any canon. I do own Maxine. Her accent is Hullish, and I have ... Er ... Had to dull it down a bit because there are some things they say that you could not understand if I wrote it down phonetically.**

**Also have just discovered my iPad does not do formatting on . Le suck. Means I actually have to use a PC for this! So, take two, plus paragraphing.  
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><p>"Morning, gorjuss," a voice purred into his left ear. If the body was anywhere near as fine as the voice was, Dean couldn't care that he felt like he'd just been through a shredder. He opened his eyes and a slow grin spread across his face. Oh yeah. She really was that hot. Although the first time he'd checked her out, she had been wearing a fitted pin-stripe suit. The next, she had been bending over to reach the taps to show them the water pressure in the house … and he'd stopped checking her out after that, once the gakis came out of the wood work. Then, he was too busy to check her out.<p>

But he wasn't now, and this morphine they had him on was doing wonders to his brain. She smiled back. She wasn't wearing her pin-striped suit anymore, she was wearing a hospital gown, and her left arm was in a sling and bandages peaked out instead of creamy skin. She was still fucking hot.

"'Ow's you feelin'?" she asked, leaning forward slightly.

"I'm feeling like a lady like you," he said, all charm and twinkle. Her smile spread a bit more.

"Ah'm 'ere te thank ye," she leaned back into the hospital wheelchair. "Fer savin' me. I wanted te be 'ere when ye woke up an' thank ye." Dean blinked and waited patiently as his drugged brain caught up. Her accent had been hard enough to understand hysterical, it was even more difficult to keep up with while high. He thought he got it.

"You could always show me just how thankful you are..." he waggled an eyebrow. She laughed. Winced. Her hand hovered over her injured arm, not touching it. "When we' no' all banged up, yew come stop by an' we'll take up this conversation then." While he may not have entirely followed her, her smile said it all. The nurse appeared to have taken it into her own head to prevent this glorious thing from coming to pass and stepped in to whisk 'Miss Watson' away before the incredibly fine woman could utter a noise of complaint. Which she managed to get out half way down the hallway, with the nurse telling her off for getting out and about and who had helped her get there anyway?

Sam, on the other hand, was grinning from the doorway. "She said to give you this," he said, swaggering in and handing over a folded up piece of paper. Dean, surprised, took it and unfolded to reveal a scrawled number:

"_Call me, xx Maxine_"

His grin got all the wider. Sam just raised an eyebrow and shook his head.


	2. That Pinstripe Suit

**AN: If you recognise it, I don't own it. I only own Maxine! Poor woman. Also take two for formatting all of this and uploading all of this from my iPad. Hopefully it works a bit better this time. Please excuse any weird formatting... **

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><p>Maxine had shown three families through the house in the last month and was despairing at the thought of having this one sit on her books for much longer. There wasn't really anything wrong with the house: it was stunning, roomy, in a great location and ideal for families. It's just that the last family who lived there had died. It wasn't that long ago that it had happened, but the power of attorney was realising the assets to disperse the estate, and so she was charged with selling the property.<p>

And no one wanted to buy it. Oh they all cooed over it, said it was perfect and so incredible and I'm sorry could you please repeat what you just said, you have an incredible accent but it's difficult to understand. But when she called them back to ask them what they thought, they became vague. And so Maxine got to say, over and over again, 'tha's okey, 'ave a think abou' it an' le' me know tomorrow'.

But today she had received another call from an interested purchaser, so she got out her pin-striped suit and got out her leaflets on the house, tied up her hair and threw her bag over her shoulder, and tromped out the door at 6.30 to meet them.

She cut the engine of her Nissan and hopped out, admiring the '67 Impala parked in front of her. She turned her attention to the two men hovering beside the car. Both were tall, handsome and rugged, and not at all the kinds of people she was marketing this property to.

"Hello," she said, walking forwards with her hand outstretched. The short-haired man grasped her hand and shook firmly. "I'm Maxine, and you must be Dean." His eyes were giving her a very vigorous once-over now that he'd finished doing the same to her car.

Dean smiled when his eyes reached hers again. "And this is my brother, Sam," he jerked his chin at the taller man, his hand being replaced by Sam's. Sam's handshake was less sure. Maxine's eyebrow twitched. "We're looking at buying a house for the old man," Dean explained. A quick fumble of keys later and the door was open, Maxine letting the men pass into the house before her. "What can you tell us about it?"

"The house has been owned by the same family for three generations." She led them into the lounge and through to the kitchen. "The last generation renovated the kitchen and bathroom, re-wired and plumbed the place and had air-con installed throughout the house." Maxine placed her bag on the kitchen bench and went over to the sink, leaned forward and turned the tap on. "The water pressure here is great, and the shower in the master ensuite is just divine!" She shut off the water and turned around. Sam had gone to explore, but Dean was standing there with a look of appreciation and a grin.

"I just bet it is," he said absently. Maxine raised an eyebrow. His grin got broader.

"Now the master bedroom is down this side of the house, while the children's bedrooms are down the other," she continued, breezing past Dean and back through the lounge, into the master bedroom. The air conditioning whirred. Dean followed. "So this is the master and in here," she pushed the door open, "is the master ensuite!"

It was, truth be told, a very well renovated house. The ensuite was large, with two vanities - so the wife didn't have to share her space with the husband - and a large mirror, a walk-in shower with more shower heads than you could poke a stick at, and a toilet separated by a hazed glass screen door. The tiles were cream, the counters a dark chocolate marble, and the basins themselves inlaid with gold designs.

Dean was eyeing up the shower as though it were the bogey monster. "Why?" he asked, gesturing at the multitudes of jets.

"I actually have one of those at home and there is nothing more relaxing than being cleaned from multiple angles. Not to mention these jets can be angled and the pressure changed to really get into sore shoulder muscles!" Maxine watched Dean's face change from one of suspicion to one of interest, and then to that face men get when you really don't want to know what they're thinking but you know anyway.

Maxine gestured for Dean to preceed her through the door and back into the lounge, where they met with Sam. The water pipes groaned and creaked.

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><p><strong>AN: Please review! Reviewing makes me want to write more.<strong>


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